spoken colors

I was in class
and someone asked
"why you talk so white"
If i talk white,
and write right.
We can a least get the grammar right.
or should i say correct

I think she ment to say
I speak Caucasion
But if i told her
I was black
or Asian
But born in Haiti
making me Haitian
Would she approach me with the same hesitation.

Correction I dont talk white.
Its speak correctly
because if
Bill Clinton spoke white
Obama speaks white


So i guess in her mind speaking white meant speaking right
but speaking white is the wrong representation
of speaking correcly
and if we correlate white and right
guess because im black im still wrong or talking properly.

In short

some think there
is an art to
writing
poetry
but they don't realize
most people speak poetically
with out
sitting down and sketching
a sonnet or a villanelle
using metaphors that no one understand
fuck the word poetry for all its worth
fuck the English language they taught to me at birth
fuck all the things that tell me what i should be
fuck you if you doubt me
this its something u dont have to read..
i know you looking at this asking
"why such vulgarity"
you know what i say fuck that.
the shit is in the dictionary
of which i was taught my native tongue
but if i use it I am deemed wrong
fuck that bitch of an ass hole for telling me
its a curse word.
why these?
these small words
that people say
are bad.
yet they fall right besides "good" words in
the book of truth
damn shit ass
words we use.
Bitch is a female dog
and it comes after bit and bite
those are bad words to right?
NO
they are actions we perform daily
so laugh it up!
tell me I'm wrong
for using the book
that taught me my native tongue
in its entirety
fuck you
for judging me
based on how i speak
i use it to write my poetry
you can write peotry to
sit down
clear ya mind
record your experience over time
in every scheme
in every line
but don't call me a poet
my life just happens to rhyme.

It Gets no better!!!!!!!!!!

spoken just enough
to shock you like cold hands
on hot flesh
while all the rest
come close but fall just short of
the best
i rest
unless they attempt to create the space
in between my mentality
and me delegating authority
of words
and the actions of verbs
in my head.

My words are the Picasso paintings on cave walls
before Picasso had a name
they paved the way for intelligent
through
written on ignorant brains.
But the mind stretches and accepts exceptions
except the ties between
loving the artist and dying for the artistry.

Heart Made of See Through Stone (Villanelle)

I am as weak as your tired ass lies.
Guess what? I'm through with you.
I am drowned by the puddles of my silent cries.

The joke is on you to your surprise.
A friendship and break up long over due.
I am as weak as your tired ass lies.

To a love that never dies:
Even though you did not intend to offend,
I am drowned by the puddles of my silent cries.

Your Medusa head exposed through the Aphrodite disguise
Now you sit singing sad songs of blues.
I am weak as your tired ass lies.

I am still in love with the one i despise.
I loved you all the way to the end.
I am drowned by the puddles of my silent cries.

Now the joke is on me I realize.
Got me good, Loved me right, broke my heart, no chance to amend,
I am as weak as your tired ass lies,
I am drowned by the puddles of my silent cries.

My Mirror Image

so slim, sleek and fashionable
nothing seems wrong in your world.
Yea!
Young and strong yet internally whipped by the pain
associated with being
GReat.
Your word savvy mouth becomes verbal abuse
for the
Incompetent.
Yet your humble nature keeps
protectors on those weapons.
You are who I am.
I dwell in you.
But even as my reflection
you have your own shoes to fill.
your still young body
20ish
Right?
Long road ahead of you
even if time is short..
for your many years of growth
realize that your
words become
YOUR IDENTITY
so Fuck them.

Hangin by a Thread

When I think
in my mind
that i need your therapy to help me,
Spoken so eloquently you selflessly
clarify above my mental anguish.
Trapped in my world of confusion,
anxiety shows me
my release is in you;
yet my pain shows me in my
thoughts differently.
Where in my world do you dwell?
In the state of happiness.
You also see my endurance's destruction of
sanity's instructions of death:
a passion for life and an understanding of
nothing less than amazing
structure.
We are born to die, Yet
we live life Hoping
to live forever only to be
fearful of taking our last breath.
Devastated by the harsh reality,
TIME LOVES NO ONE.
no finger of blame to point
and to point a finger of blame
would be
POINTLESS
An utterance of assurance is unrealistic.
Take me to a new place
where people find serenity.
and i to may wallow in pity knowing that
the beauty of life is
temporarily posted
ONE TIME USE ONLY
disposable and still full of memories.
Pictures rich with beauty yet
drenched in disaster.
Cross Walk
yet
of Nothing.
my heart is still bleeding
because through
holes
pain Lives.

Misguided

Heart bleeding
blue for ink
smudged on red
paper.
red paper stained
with pain ink
bleeding on
experienced hearts.
don't need many
words to express pain!
pain is written in
expression!
experienced hearts bleeding
ink.
pain with
stained paper!
red paper
on smudged ink
for blue bleeding hearts
I call it
Dirty money